


A Man Walks Into A Bar

by Byrcca



Series: Stuff and Nonsense [7]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 12:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15773793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: Tom Paris’ life as told through the drinkng holes he’s visited.





	A Man Walks Into A Bar

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a story I wrote years ago, now lost. I don’t know if it was ever posted. It’s a one-shot, unbetaed, written late last night after a conversation with some very talented and supportive ladies. This is for you, with my thanks. (I really hope this doesn’t suck!)
> 
> And my beta gophered up just in time to force me to clarify a few lines. LA, you’re the best!

I

A man walks into a bar and he’s barely a man: energetic, effervescent, charming, and so very young. His eyes bright with laughter, his mouth an easy smile. The women sigh and flock to him, the men think, “he’s not so great”. Turns out, they were right… 

II

A man walks into a bar and he’s tired, exhausted, beaten. He carries a burden that is too heavy to bear. He carries a secret that grows larger and darker and louder, ringing in his ears, whispering in his head, faces before his eyes, and all the scotch in all the bottles won’t drown it out: fault, my fault, MY FAULT. MY. FAULT.

III

A man walks into a bar and he’s quiet, subdued. His eyes are hooded, and if they once twinkled, they don’t now. He’s thin, tired, the alcohol showing in his face, in the puffiness in his cheeks, in the sallowness of his skin, in the redness of his eyes. He’s there to meet a man, broker a deal, maybe get his wings back… The alien booze burns in his belly, like the fire that’s back in his eyes. 

IV

A man walks into a bar, stiff, apprehensive, and orders a cup of coffee. He’s being very, very careful because he knows that second chances are rare, that he doesn’t really deserve it, but he’s willing to try, willing to grab it with both hands and bluff. And he wants this chance so very, very much. He hopes they’ll forgive him, hopes they’ll understand it’s not about them, or her, it’s about _him_. 

V

A man walks into a bar that he’s created, embellished with familiar objects, populated with people who love him, a trick of the light made to persuade the people around him that he’s worth more than _nothing_. And he hopes it’s enough because it’s all he has, this and the essence of himself that they see every day on the bridge, in the mess. She calls him a pig and she means it, and maybe she’s right, but there’s a glint in her eye and he decides that a pig is something, after all. 

VI

A soldier walks into a bar and sees a woman he loved a lifetime ago, in another world. One of springtime, and endless summer, and hope, and future years stretching out before them like they were theirs for the taking. She’s shocked, and so is he, but his is mixed with sadness and longing and a certainty that he’s too late. Too late. He’s lost his chance, can’t regain it, and the feeling is familiar but he doesn’t know why. 

VII

A man walks into a bar and stands just inside the doorway, looks around, tries to resolve the reality of centuries-old stone and mortar with decade old memories and embellished imagination. He spies her wiping glasses at the bar, her bar, still slim, still elegant and beautiful in her familiarity and he almost cries at the sight of her, at the memories of his lost youth. She turns and sees him, and she remembers him, calls his name, kisses his cheeks, embraces him, tears in her own eyes, so glad to see he’s alive and whole and home! This woman that others were certain was a figment of his imagination, an amalgamation of mother and sister and lover, a desperate, pitiable attempt at creating a family out of thin air. 

They sit, drink tea, share memories and news and photos of his wife, his new baby, and she coos and exclaims and just sits and smiles at him while he tells her tales of great adventures she can barely comprehend but knows barely scratch the surface of his experiences. And his wife arrives, baby in tow, her wide, bright eyes taking in everything, EVERYTHING as his once did. And his wife kisses him, and he makes introductions, and her own eyes widen in surprise, and he laughs and kisses her again. 

They sit and eat and talk until the sun starts to go down and the baby is fussy, tired, and needs her bath and her bed, and they promise to come back, bring their friends, but she knows that this is the last time she’ll see him but she’s not sad: this was a bonus, a gift. So many young men in uniform, so many who never return, so many who can’t. But only one returned from disgrace, returned from the dead. One who had been on her mind lately, who she’d never been able to forget. 

She smiles and wipes the table.

**Author's Note:**

> Tempted to make this a, Guess the ‘she’ contest...


End file.
